


upon the skin (craquelure)

by haesuns



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Ambiguous Relationship, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Doomed Relationship, M/M, Minor Character Death, just an unnamed person not any of the dreamies, weird dynamics the sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:26:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22638379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haesuns/pseuds/haesuns
Summary: Renjun learns that crowns don't melt into the earth like those around him warned. They're set ablaze, clattering to the ground, and only the wearer and his killer will hear.
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Lee Donghyuck | Haechan
Comments: 25
Kudos: 46





	upon the skin (craquelure)

**Author's Note:**

> this was never intended to become a full piece but here it is! i took some slightly different routes with style and language so i hope it turned out alright :]

Every king dies; it's an unavoidable fate, dictated by the people upon the dictator.

They wait on the edges of the kingdom, anticipating the day his head comes tumbling down the mountain and into the sea, salty spray in the air tinged with blood. Their hands pound at the walls of the palace, waiting to tear the royal family apart until, at long last.

Someone different. Someone within the palace.

Present day: he's resting at the edge of the steps, all-consuming shadows, eyes dreadfully awake and fingers twitching around a leather handle—hands unsteady, tears streaking the sunken cheek, he—

Stop; deep breaths.

Too far ahead. Back to the beginning. Or rather, what will have to suffice as the beginning. A start of dead winters and dead hearts, of the cold sun's rumination with shackled wrists.

The day Donghyuck arrives at the palace.

He's from the countryside, they tell Renjun. Silently bold, but hard work runs in his veins, diffuses through his body, sets the oh-so-dreaded example for lost princes and moonstruck commoners. A boy standing upon a cracked plinth that shudders under his weight, too much for polished marble royalty to sustain.

In the midst of it all, Renjun somehow forgets that he's exactly that: royalty.

People like Donghyuck aren't meant to be kept close to princes—people who exude vitality, gilded coat on top, the kind of person that makes the unsuspecting hand flinch away as it meets molten gold. Admire them from a distance, but don't ever dare to step into their orbit. Be careful, they warn in insignificant whispers. He'll melt your crown right down to the earth.

(But Renjun has never been one for those who refuse to say things to his face—and in hindsight, perhaps he should've seen this coming.)

A step closer. Two, even. It should be a reasonable distance, a safeguard between Renjun and Donghyuck's worlds, a sheet of glass only meant to be looked through.

But if there's one thing Donghyuck knows, it's how to talk to people, to work his way closer and higher, wrap himself in the foolishly shallow trust of others. Renjun will swiftly learn that gravity is unavoidable.

-

Being royalty is an interesting thing, a limbo between getting paraded around by parents who hold their chins a tad too high and the reality of responsibility. For Renjun's early life (and for as long as his parents are still alive, he'd respectfully assume), it's been much of the former and practically none of the latter. A blessing in disguise for a boy who would rather read about the planets and stars rather than war strategies and how to bring an enemy to his knees, in retrospect.

Let him sit in with the counsel at age 7—he doesn't know a damn thing in the first place, and he won't ever think of actually listening just yet. Let him weave his stories and paint his night skies, let the world know that he has the luxury of living in blissful obliviousness while life barely clings on below. Cover his ears when said life reaches up to rattle the bars of the cage, cacophonous monotony not yet discovered, don't let him realize that he has no idea which side of the cage he's on.

The steps should be easy. The steps should be followed. And when the time comes, Renjun will learn to create his own steps, and his parents will laugh in that controlled way of theirs, patting him on the back and telling him that he's grown into a fine prince.

But, a scenario for consideration: the steps fail. Renjun grows into a boy who is both too soft and too toughened, a boy who couldn't pick a side even if he knew which one he was on. Until he gets just a bit older, finds that fiery conviction that never wavers—wouldn't he make for a beautifully terrifying pawn?

Yet they'll never see that his spirit may waver behind closed doors, hands stained and streaked with paint long-dried, cloth crumpled beneath his fingers. Frustration, is it? The feeling when no matter how hard he tries, he can't seem to complete the image of his kingdom, leaving canvas splotched with white and indiscernible details that aren't quite right.

Hilarious, really. Renjun's reality will never be what his parents think it is.

-

Concerning Donghyuck—the thing is, Renjun likes to play pretend about certain things. Call it a cheap thrill, a vain means of distraction if you'd like to look at it surface level. But never, _ever_ forget that nothing about Huang Renjun is surface level. So he'll play pretend about not noticing Donghyuck in the halls of the palace, black hair mussed up in some peculiar way everytime, maroon garbs laced with gold that catches sunlight through window panes. He'll have his fun, watch for the near-imperceptible downward twitch of Donghyuck's brows at a cool dismissal, throw in a smile if he's still looking by the end of it all.

Maybe it has to do with the fact that much of his childhood was confined to the gardens, to mazes of rose bushes, to his books and brushes with the barest hints of human contact. It's a peculiar epiphany, the idea that he likes to toy with people just to get a reaction out of them, calculated down to the smallest gesture and sweep of his gaze. Burning iron, a sword in the forge with embers flying; tease it over the flame to watch it turn white-hot, withdraw before it can ever reach that point. An observation for which Renjun has found a subject, sunlight concentrated through the looking glass.

What he doesn't account for is the way he inches closer and closer to that flame, no barrier against its heat—after all, nobody has ever taught him how to deal with a boy who bites back, sickly sweet and poisoning the veins with blue, rolling with oceanic blood.

-

Back by the collar, they tug Renjun, lips drawn in a grim line of disapproval and eyes hard. Again and again he pulls away, closer to that orbit, until inevitably—he's sucked in.

It comes in the form of fleeting glances in the royal library, Donghyuck's fingers splayed across the spines of books from ages gone by, pages that seem to creak like wood with their movements. It comes in the unspoken words and mutual understanding as they pass each other in the halls (because Donghyuck has changed his path to get around, so wouldn't Renjun, too?), and time stops.

Eyes locked, chains around the ribcage.

Nobles are finicky creatures that smother their hands over any dangling piece of gossip they can scavenge. Renjun knows it, has known it since the day he learned that his people aren't always on his side, a jarring shatter of youth's oblivion in a mosaic of the palace's stained glass windows. There's no doubt in his mind that Donghyuck has entangled himself in the web, willingly, even, letting their silk run over his wrists and across his eyes if only to preserve himself. He plays the game in the only way he knows. Human.

And at long last, it comes when Donghyuck pulls him by the sleeve away from the fray of royal celebrations, out of sight from nosy onlookers and into the hushed quiet of endless hallways. Topple the vase, watch it shatter, pretend nothing happened with a smile on his lips.

A try for self awareness: Renjun knows that he has no reason to let Donghyuck tug him along at his mercy, no need to find himself so captivated by these rare glimpses of real, unpolished life. But who can blame him for glancing at the sun and letting darkness settle at the edges of his vision? His gaze is heavy, his lips are warm, and it's fatally addictive.

The opposite of self awareness—foolishness, perhaps: Renjun lets him do it anyway despite the fact that they've never spoken apart from formalities. Arms that lace around his waist, closer, closer, unfounded passion that scrambles to find its base. Hands splayed across the throat, sliding down to the chest, heat branded against the coolness of his skin and setting it ablaze.

Desperate. What else is expected when he's been forced to sit statuesque his entire life?

When all is said and done, it appears Donghyuck would be happy to watch Renjun unravel and crumble apart beneath him anyday.

(At least, this is what Renjun tells himself. Human emotions are a powerful thing when they finally emerge.)

-

New people aren't as bad as the royal life makes them out to be. A lesson for Renjun to finally learn at the hands of a boy who isn't some diplomat or general, a boy who doesn't merely regard him out of obligation. They live and breathe with the palace, they feel its shudders upon pillars of sand and within each other. Mistake one was failing to heed the warnings of Renjun's elders—mistake two is simply a continuation of the first one.

-

Renjun decides he hates the rain.

Normally, it's the sweetly flowing nectar of the lands, enriching the soil and bringing forth sprigs of growth through otherwise barren dirt. Children emerge to laugh and play in cobblestone streets, worried parents ushering them back inside with murmurs of _you'll catch a cold_ , and they reluctantly return inside. The river swells, raindrops thrum against the window, and Renjun is sick of it.

"You seem awfully bothered by the weather, my prince."

_His_ prince?

It's Donghyuck. Always seems to be him, these days. Ah, but don't get ahead of yourself. Formalities are formalities.

A downturning of the lips, quirk of the brows. "It's because I am. Lee Donghyuck, was it?" There's no need to ask the name, but the words burst past by impulse, catching even Donghyuck off-guard, a flash of surprise in his eyes.

He nods in confirmation, steps forward as though to test the waters, flickering candle flame that he is. Then he's leaning back, arms braced against the edge of the library desk, gaze half-committed to observing the book upon its top. Strikingly casual, cold mask dropped in an instant to reveal something much quieter, far more subdued. Yet he pulses with life, moves with an unmistakable charisma, just the way he did under Renjun's fingers in the shadows.

"I'm surprised you'd go along with a little stunt like that. I'd expect you to have more restraint at a betrothal celebration night," he says, smile playing upon his lips with the barest hint of cheekiness, prodding the beast.

"Is that so?" Voice in the head, reminding Renjun that he's still a prince, that he should act like one. But nobody has dared to challenge the facade, and Renjun finds it crumbling far faster than he'd like despite the fact that Donghyuck is hardly pushing it.

He hums in affirmation, scans Renjun up and down like he's looking for something very specific, grins when he seems to find it—unsettling would be the wrong word for it. _Intriguing_ is more along the lines of Renjun's thoughts, although he feels that both emotions would be equally dangerous.

"I've seen you. Not just at festivals or meetings. I know that there's more that you want besides this life."

"I wouldn't be keen on making assumptions so soon."

And Donghyuck tips his head back and laughs, making Renjun irritatingly aware of the heat rising upon his cheeks and staining them rose.

"My prince, an observation is not an assumption," he says, tilting his head in a way that's deceivingly innocuous, hair falling to the side in soft waves of black. Renjun clamps his lips tighter like something impulsive will escape if he doesn't, grasping the leather-bound book and rising from his seat.

"Why are you here, anyway? I'm sure you have better things to do than watch me mull over rain and books." There's a trickle of ice in his voice, but Donghyuck brushes it off like late-winter snowflakes from the coat draped over a trembling body.

"The palace can deal without me attending to it. You, though. You're something else."

-

"What brought you to the palace?"

Donghyuck purses his lips, gaze faltering from where it rests upon Renjun's canvas, uncertain. Try as he might, there will always be emotions Renjun can pick apart from him behind sealed lips and heavy-lidded eyes. It comes as a dull realization: newfound familiarity.

"A carriage."

Renjun gives him a noise that's somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, paintbrush drawing away from the myriad of whites and blues and greys, incomplete images of his own kingdom.

"You know what I mean, Donghyuck."

Pure silence follows, punctuated by the ticking of the large clock suspended between the windows of the study, and something about it makes Renjun's stomach twist.

"What brought me here? Better life, I suppose," is what Donghyuck says, hands wringing each other out, fingers pressing skin into white. "They train people like me. You go from errand boy to bookkeeper to..." A laugh. "Well, I suppose I don't know what I am now. Whatever the palace wants, I give."

"Just like that?"

The look Donghyuck gives him is a step away from scathing—a self-defense of sorts, Renjun reckons.

"Is that not what you do? I don't ever recall hearing of princes who dare to resist the crown. This kingdom would've fallen long ago if that were the case."

The stillness that follows is more telling than any weak defense Renjun could ever muster.

"It's better up here, though, is it not?" he asks Donghyuck who pulls a stool to the side and watches Renjun, sunlight drenching him in gold and white. He cracks a small grin and shakes his head in bemusement.

"I'll never truly understand the royal life. Your family—" Donghyuck sucks in a breath, worries his bottom lip as though unsure how to continue. "I mean, what's the point? Staying up here when there's so much to see below?" A hand on the shoulder before he pulls it away, lingering warmth through his garbs.

Renjun smiles, bitter. There will always be things people could never understand.

-

"Have you ever heard the myth of the Kingslayer?" Donghyuck asks one night, odd light in his eyes, head tilted in a way that beckons in secret. Not so much of a question as it is a test, Renjun suspects. Silver moonlight, spindly branches casting shadows over his face, the wind tossing his cape in a hushed gust.

"Of course I have. It's the stuff of myths, a tale my mother would tell just to keep me in line. A little dark, isn't it?" Renjun's laugh is inflectionless, trapped in the maze of twisted rosebushes and warped starlight.

"Legends are lessons." Hands delving into the bushes, leaves spiraling to the ground as the rose parts from its stem, a harsh tug. Donghyuck smiles.

"The gardeners will have your head if you keep that up," Renjun warns, petals at his feet upon disturbed soil, the last traces of the queen, leftovers of a funeral long-forgotten.

"I do believe the kingdom has far bigger concerns than a few roses and somebody like me. A nobody, if you'd prefer."

Feint left, strike right. Stun the heart into stillness.

"The Kingslayer," Donghyuck repeats after seconds stretch to give room for eons, time that settles into Renjun's heart and weighs it down to his stomach. Unpleasant. "The blade of the people, intended to kill an unjust king. When the king no longer serves his lands, what is the point of his rule? Why let the family sit in their thrones of bodies?"

Another rose. This time, stem attached.

"Ah, but the king then seized the blade and locked it far beyond the confines of the palace. I wonder where it hides now."

"That is not the type of king I intend to become."

Donghyuck scoffs, shakes his head like Renjun's the foolish one here, the one who doesn't know any better, and—

Well, Renjun can't exactly argue that he's wrong.

"I know what you're thinking, your highness." The title brings a twitch to his muscles, bottom lip between his teeth, blooming red. "I trust you, more than anyone else in this palace." But not as much as Donghyuck trusts himself, he suspects.

"Don't call me that," breathes Renjun. "You know how I feel about it."

Curious eyebrow twitching upwards, a relenting sigh, something gentler in between. "My bad, Renjun."

Anywhere, please. Look anywhere but his face.

"I just wanted to say it. Should you ever turn your back on the people, you know what will come."

Renjun gets the feeling that it's already too late.

"But why, Donghyuck? You don't have the blade, nor do I. And most of all, why fight for a kingdom who would never fight for someone like you?"

The words border on demanding, disrupting the softness of Donghyuck's features, the curve of his nose and lips, eyes turned to the ground. They flash upwards with something incredibly dangerous, and for the first time, Renjun fully realizes that he is just as capable of sending Donghyuck over the edge in the same way Donghyuck does to him.

"Maybe I'm selfish, Renjun. Everything comes at a cost, and we're no different, no matter how well you hide within these walls."

-

Would it be unfair to have suspicions in a palace full of failed usurpers and backstabbers?

Of course not, Renjun reasons. The best protection belongs to none other than the prince, not even the king. Surprising at the barest of glances, but the kingdom needs an heir, and Renjun is the only one in line for the crown of thorns.

Somehow, Renjun can't quite shake the feeling that he isn't as human as he'd like to be. Not when he's up here, and people are down there. Paintbrush to the canvas, of men in the palace, of blurry scenes below covered in December snow and buried in armor—but paintings were never immortal, either.

-

Judge, jury, and executioner. That's how the saying goes, right? At some point, Renjun might've believed these powers rested in the clutches of his father, or even himself. And in a way, he supposes it still does. Weak. A prince who can't even rein in his own fate, thrown over the edge of the sea cliffs even if he could order the same for his own subjects.

His father, a different story. No hesitation, unafraid of power, of taking the spotlight and spreading its sickly glow to wherever he pleased, even the darkest recesses of the streets. Pluck them from their houses—a warning of sorts. Drench them in their own blood, kick them back to the ground and let them crawl home. A story on loop for years, for longer than Renjun can even fathom.

There's nothing he can do to halt the trepidation that colors Donghyuck's gaze everytime he learns more about Renjun's family, nor the feeling of guilt that settles everytime he's made aware of their blood in his veins. It's their blood that pulses everytime he snaps, toppling desks and books in his frustration and looking upon the kingdom in disdain, Donghyuck grabbing at his wrists to subdue him.

("These are _your_ people, Renjun."

_This is his blood, all the same._

Heavy breaths, tearing him up from the inside. Just kiss him—kissing is easier than bearing with this talk, with the heart's unsteady beat. Heat to the very core, skin blossoming with roses and violets and the stinging ridges of thorn-thin scratches.

Let Donghyuck save the poison for another day.)

He wonders if things would've been easier if he had ended up like the king.

-

A memory:

Renjun's first time sparring with Donghyuck, laughter ringing through the training grounds, nobody but the two of them in a glade of rippling grasses, and Donghyuck letting out a sneeze that sends him stumbling forward. He laughs, the clearest Renjun has ever heard from him, blaming it on pollen and steadying his blade.

Eyes clear, dead ahead, aimed for Renjun's heart.

Renjun thinks he likes Donghyuck better like this—no calculation deep-set in the lines of furrowed brows and a frown, no ulterior motive. A Donghyuck that, for once, allows himself to get lost in the joys of youth and pleasurable highs that don't send him crashing down as soon as it's all over.

He wishes he could pull Donghyuck close, watch the grin split his lips, or walk through the garden with nobody to pry them apart and open, rifling through the contents of their hearts.

But they're both too close-guarded to sustain the sensation; it doesn't send their foundation crumbling, no, but it certainly begins to ebb away as time whispers over their shoulders and reminds them that things come apart sooner or later.

Sword to the chest—not piercing the skin nor the plate of leather training armor Renjun adorns, battered and torn. Donghyuck taps him once, twice with the tip, gives him a look that will haunt him all the way down to the grave, because it's the only time he's seen or will ever see it in his life.

Don't put a name to it, urges the mind, but it seems Renjun makes a habit of ignoring it whenever Donghyuck is around.

The feeling is—

Love?

Too soon.

Another memory, for good measure and a clearer conscience:

"The future is in your hands, Renjun."

Same training spot. A clear day, the clashing of the flats of their swords. Metal against metal, both unyielding, waiting for the day a heat intense enough can melt them back down to a glowing trickle. Renjun feels the bead of sweat down the back of his neck, hair plastered against his forehead uncomfortably in the humid midday air, and Donghyuck's burning gaze. A quick maneuver that twists their swords around and brings the tip to Renjun's throat. It knocks Renjun to the grass, stealing the air from his lungs like a drowning man's watery grave before Donghyuck draws away in silence.

"If I keep losing to you like this, I doubt it," Renjun manages to huff in between labored breaths, and Donghyuck reaches a single gloved hand to pull him up from the ground. Renjun takes it, and the tug on his arm isn't gentle by any means, sending a jolt of pain down his twisted wrist.

"Have some faith in yourself, your highness."

" _Renjun_ ," he corrects, but Donghyuck waves him off with a simple motion.

"One and the same." He's standing in the heavy sunlight of late spring, glow bouncing off of his skin and coloring him in shades of gold, and Renjun swallows thickly. He wants to let the sword clatter out of his hands and pull Donghyuck close right, but he knows he can't. Not when he's a prince and Donghyuck is...

Somebody?

Maybe to him, but not to the rest of the kingdom.

Oh, but the heart consumes all, and Renjun wants him to part his lips and confess something so simple, so easy that they could get it over with in seconds. Fire roaring over the ridge, leaving charred behinds in its wake, remnants of life once present.

(It's not a confession of love. No, it sings of something far less pleasant.)

Donghyuck grows harsher, more distant, the center of a galaxy that threatens to abandon the very thing that revolves around it. In moments like these, he's anything but a celestial body.

The boy who swallows the afternoon sun, fire and all, straight down the throat and burning into his veins.

"Not the same, actually."

"If you say so, Renjun. But you can't go walking around with me being the deadlier of us two," sighs Donghyuck, the notes of his voice ambrosial—ah, but never consume too much at once, lest ichor run through the blood and tear the body apart from the heart.

He turns his back to Renjun. An exposing stance, vulnerable. Veiled threats ring through Renjun's mind: threats of finding the long hidden blade, of taking Renjun's downfall into his own hands, of rectifying the royal bloodline's wrongs upon their subjects.

Funnily enough, Renjun could end it there. He knows he could drive his sword into his back, watch the blood bubble past his lips and bitter smile overtake his features, knowing that this would have to end with either one of them dead. It's a jarring thought, the inevitable knowledge that they were doomed from the beginning, and Renjun thinks that even swallowing the sun would not quell the chill in his veins. The future is in his hands, and Donghyuck is right.

But not this time. Donghyuck goes still as if he senses Renjun's thoughts, and he turns back to the prince, a knowing smile stretching peach lips and eyes singing songs of betrayal underneath a mask of love.

"You're weak, Renjun," he murmurs, and the words pierce his soul more sharply than any blade could, twisting and drawing the blood out from under the skin in a hideously nauseating trickle. Deeper he pierces when he nears Renjun, looking into his eyes before pulling him into a kiss. And Renjun reciprocates, breath shaking and heart burning, because he doesn't know how to do anything in this world except love Donghyuck, has never known anything else. The crown topples from his head, and Donghyuck pushes him down, deeper and deeper still with no end in sight.

-

Renjun learns that crowns don't melt into the earth like those around him warned. They're set ablaze, clattering to the ground, and only the wearer and his killer will hear.

-

Back to the beginning, before that, even. Keep up; a history lesson.

"It's raining," Renjun observes plainly, and the eyebrow raise from his father is nothing but critical—still, he says nothing, keeps the bite behind those thin-pressed lips of his. The way Renjun prefers.

"The people will be happy. The spring rain brings a plentiful harvest, and they will keep quiet."

Curious.

"Are they?"

Here comes the bite; the telltale frown that wrinkles aged features in disapproval, the eyes of someone who has never quite dealt with the peculiarities of a youthful mind.

"Renjun, you are a prince. Speak concisely and with intent, and then I'll answer the question."

No tears, not in front of him, just try again. He's used to it. (The phantom sting against his skin suggests otherwise.)

"Are the people happy, father?"

A heavy question for a young boy, is it not?

"It depends on the year," is all he says. "You're blessed to be born and raised in an era of peace between kingdoms. Never take it for granted."

At age 21, Renjun will discover that war can rise within a kingdom in dead silence.

-

It was always going to end up like this at some point.

Stop—stop looking at him for just one second. Don't trace the lines of his blanketed body, bare shoulders peeking above the covers and feverish dreams rolling off in waves. Resist the urge to reach into that fading heat, brush the hair out from over his closed eyes, eyes that crinkle with laughter and narrow in mock annoyance and always seem to _stare_.

But they flutter open anyway, and the heart lurches into the throat and Renjun can't seem to urge that sting of scratches and bruises away. It dances upon the skin, sets it aflush, a sensation that travels down the trembling fingertips that brings the gravity of this world into the space between them.

_The body fights gravity, but gravity knows it will win. Oh, how it slips through the fingers just when the hand believes it's finally gotten a grasp. It's nice to think he had a chance, though, isn't it?_

-

The king is dead.

Donghyuck had run, and Renjun can't say he didn't see it coming. Although, he can't seem to find true intent behind the action regardless. He might have even called it a useless endeavor if not for the fact that Donghyuck finds exactly what he's been looking for, and it's only a matter of time before the thorns pierce embed themselves into his skin for good.

Truly, the world has never fared well when humans try to play god.

It's nighttime when Renjun mounts his steed and ventures into the forest, far past the training grounds to a place where moss encroaches upon stone and the earth thrums in time with his heart. Of course it's his own fault. Who else would be so foolish as to think someone like Donghyuck wouldn't pick up the hints and finally make sense of their blurry landscape? Abandoned castles, deserted hearts, all becoming dust in his hands.

There's no fanfare of trumpets, no triumphant battle cry with foolish men rallied to fight more foolish men and send bodies into the ground. For a split second of stomach-twisting guilt, Renjun thinks he would've preferred war in this form, unbridled and impersonal so he could sit pretty above it all and let others handle their troubles.

And just for a moment, he understands why the people want to bring the throne crumbling down. He understands why Donghyuck twists the hilt of the blade between calloused skin, runs his fingers across the flat to clear away decades of dust and reveal cold metal.

Donghyuck kneels at the foot of the throne in the vacant room, flowers springing up beneath his feet, wind whispering through shattered glass and wrought frames. Torn banners creak from where they sit suspended on the sides of the room, and Donghyuck stills—turns at a death's creep, so, so tired.

"What are you doing?" Renjun murmurs. He already knows the answer.

"You don't want me to answer that, Renjun."

"Oh, but I do."

There's no hiding the seep of venom into his voice hidden just behind feigned nonchalance—not that he thinks he's fooling Donghyuck in any way, of course, not when a snap of trepidation flickers over glazed eyes and sends a sick smugness right through his gut. He steps closer, and Donghyuck makes no move to back away, gaze transfixed upon Renjun's shadow-swallowed figure.

But he laughs. Startling, clear, sharp at the end and so very brief that Renjun halts in his tracks.

"He made it so easy," he says.

There's no point in asking who Donghyuck speaks of.

"Being up-close with royalty, it changes things. You're suddenly removed from the lashings, the starvation, the silent plea to the gods for any sort of relief. And you begin to understand the king, perhaps just the slightest bit." A nod of the head, almost decidedly, a small smile that plays across the lips. "I'm sure you know what I mean, Renjun."

He pauses, inhales, drives the tip of the blade against his index finger and flinches away at its prick.

"Still sharp."

"Of course it is," Renjun says, more out of obligation to shatter his silence than anything else. "The box has shielded it from nature for years."

"It took me this long to find this godforsaken blade, and for what? You know what the funniest thing about this is?"

His eyes are clear now, dark and soaked with moonlight, searching Renjun's face.

"I didn't even need this blade. Nothing is more shameful than feeling anything close to what your king must've felt looking down upon his people. I do these things _because_ I understand."

(Of course. Every king dies; it's an unavoidable fate, dictated by the people upon the dictator.

Donghyuck waits on the edges of the kingdom, brings forth the day his head comes tumbling down the mountain and into the sea, salty spray in the air, tinged with the blood of marred hearts. His hands pound at the walls of the throne room, tear the pulsing heart from its cage of bones at long last.

Everything that rises must plummet. One day, Renjun will, too.)

"And you never loved your father, did you? Obligation. It's always about obligations in the end."

Each word feels like a puncture to the stomach, driving bile into his throat with unpleasant truths in merciless succession.

"No," Renjun concedes, quiet. "Did you think I knew anything about love? Is that what we can even call this?" Near-scornful, if not for the way his breaths come out faster, escaping with an edge of agitation. "Who am I, if not just a prince who knows nothing about being king or even being _alive_? Are you not just a subject that's made it this far without dying by some incomprehensible luck? Another pawn of the kingdom? You know nothing of whose game you play."

"Perhaps not. But I know that I am beholden to no prince nor king."

Donghyuck stands, walks towards Renjun with the blade in hand, thorns rooting him to the spot.

"You've not quite turned your back on your kingdom, though. What is it that keeps you in your place? Fear, love, something else?"

Maybe all three. Renjun sees it in himself, sees it in Donghyuck, shattering the glass barrier only to realize it was never real. And Donghyuck pulls him closer, lets Renjun's head rest in the crook of his neck, breathing softly.

"This won't last, Donghyuck," he whispers without strength, wind lacing with his words and rustling the ivy-covered walls.

"Of course not, dear. I won't ask you to make it so."

"Would you loathe me if I were to request something of you?"

Donghyuck pulls away, hands twitching around the handle, the image of his face blurry with blood and tears, and shakes his head.

A last chance to let even the smallest piece of fate rest in his hands.

One final wish.

"Do not bury me too deeply."

**Author's Note:**

> take a shot everytime i write a fic with an ambiguous ending. anyway Haha this grew from a speedwrite on the 00ff all the way back in august but i only started properly expanding on it at the beginning of january. shoutout if you recognize the pieces that i took and incorporated! also hoping i didnt miss any typos
> 
> haesunns on twt and cc


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